On my way towards the South Pole I imagined the man in the moon looking down on the Earth.
There wasn't a sound from our planet that was able to reach nearly 240,
000 miles up to him.
But he could see our planet and let his gaze wander far south.
There he saw a boy in a blue anorak trudging further and further in across the ice.
Only setting up his tent in the evenings.
The next day he would emerge from the tent and the ritual was repeated.
The man in the moon watched the boy head in the same direction week after week.
He must have thought the boy was nuts.
Late one afternoon,
Just before I was about to conclude my day's journey and pitch my tent,
I peered up into the sky and imagined the man in the moon turning his gaze far north.
Far below he could observe thousands,
If not millions,
Of people leaving their tiny houses early in the day only to sit in traffic for a few minutes or an hour,
As if in a silent movie.
Then they arrive at large buildings where they remain indoors for 8,
10 or 12 hours seated in front of a screen before returning via the same traffic jam back to their tiny houses.
At home they eat dinner and watch the news on TV at the same time each night,
Year after year.
The only difference over time would be that some of these people,
Perhaps the most ambitious of them,
Would move to a slightly larger house to spend their nights.
As I released my ski bindings that evening to pitch camp,
I felt calmer and more content.